Lazy Day in the CAF

[Nyth]

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"Shit, I'm sorry about this, baby." CRACK - CLANG.
The words came muttering out of the mouth of Andrew Fielding as he lay on his back underneath his Spitfire, his hands busy with the brakes on the left landing wheel. He was unusually mucky for a man who usually took a great deal of care to manage his appearance - although stoic in every other social sense he had been raised upper class, and he often reflected this fact. He sighed heavily and paused his work, wiping the sleeve of his leather jacket across the condensation on his forehead. A few moments passed as his bright green eyes scanned the tangle of metal and wiring that he'd been struggling with for the past hour or so.
Footsteps approached, but he paid them no mind. He was in one of the base's many hangars, after all, footsteps were not an uncommon sound.
"Captain Fielding."
A sigh from beneath the Spitfire. "No."
"Captain Fielding, sir. Sorry to bother you."
With an audible groan Andrew pulled himself out from underneath the plane, wiping his hands on his jeans and shrugging his jacket into a more comfortable position once he'd hauled himself to his feet. With an irritable glance he looked the source of the voice up and down, recognising the man as Alex Wilkes, one of the pilots in his command.
"Wilkes. What is it?"
"Nothing, sir. The boys and I were just wondering if you were hungry, we're going on a burger run."
As if answering for him, the Captain's stomach rumbled fiercely, and he realised he hadn't eaten in well over eight hours. With an amused smile he nodded appreciatively, patting Wilkes on the shoulder with a surprising level of good nature.
"I'd love a burger. Nothing fancy, just whatever the rest of you are having."
Visibly pleased with the reaction and physical contact, Wilkes grinned and gave the Captain a brief but appropriate salute. "Yes, sir."
With that, the young pilot turned on his heels and went quickly over to his waiting group of comrades, who had previously been given permission to leave by Fielding. This was one of the reasons why he commanded such a love-hate relationship from those he interacted with frequently - although he was usually quite difficult and unpleasant, he seemed to constantly have the soldiers' best interests at heart. For that, they didn't feel justified in hating him, but they certainly could not admit to liking the man, either.
Andrew, or 'Fenrir' as he was known off-base, turned back to his Spitfire and sighed, glancing at the wheel he'd been working on before hoisting himself easily up onto the wing, near the fuselage. He suddenly realised he was exhausted, and leaned his head back appreciatively onto the cool metal of the outer cockpit. The name 'Milly' was emblazoned obviously across the plane's nose, shouting to all who might ask the question.
Just as the Captain's eyes had closed in a brief moment of respite, the phone began to ring in the office of the hangar, echoing unbearably throughout the now-empty metal building. He tried desperately to ignore it, wondering why the hell there wasn't anybody there to answer it. He was there, of course, and more than capable of answering the phone, but it didn't occur to him. To Andrew, his job description did not include answering phones. Besides, surely there was some...voicemail thing...or something?
God damn it all...a fleet full of fighter jets and no secretary. He thought irritably, opening one eye in annoyance.

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[Erinland]

Sydra Fare looked over the wheel of her pathetic blue Cadillac, winding through the snaky overgrown road. Fed up, she stopped, pulling over to the side of the road. She pulled out the map she'd gotten from the Internet and studied it. There it was, a road she'd missed. This base was so far out of the way, Sydra wondered if this job inquiry was even worth pursuing. But she told herself it was worth it, if only to get out from under her current boss. She cranked the clunker and turned the long car around in the road. There was little chance of anyone coming.

She backtracked about a mile or two and spotted the turn in. It was not hidden, but was not marked, and not very obvious. The drive was longer than she expected, but it was a straight shot through the trees and woods and finally the base came into view. Sydra could see the runway and hangers quite clearly and the chain link perimeter as well. As she got closer she saw that there was a gate guard. She pulled up and stopped at his booth, leaning slightly out the window.

"Uh, hi there, my co-worker's brother works out here, he told me I might possibly find a position available for a secretary?"

The gate keeper put down his newspaper and looked at her through dark glasses.

"You were directed here by who?"

"Um," Sydra thought. "His name is . . . Riley? Yeah, Riley . . . Dowager."

The gate keeper thought for a moment, then nodded his head.


"Go ahead."

He opened the gate manually, and Sydra wondered it wasn't automatic. She drove slowly through, and gave the guard a small wave to be polite. There was a small parking lot near the front of several buildings, and she found a suitable place for her car. She stepped out in her brown cowboy boots and dusted them off. She wore a simple blue dress and wore her bag over her shoulder. Her dark hair hung in loose curls just past her shoulders. Cowboy boots weren't exactly secretarial, but they were her dark pair, and did look nice. At least she thought so.

She looked around, but failed to see anyone milling around. She cautiously stepped inside the closest hangar. There was a phone ringing inside the hangar office, and Sydra saw through the glass that surrounded the room on all sides. The huge open space was taken by a few planes, but she could see one with the bold name of Milly on the nose. Sydra was hopeful as she was sure she saw a foot move near the bottom off the plane. She walked several yards, trying to keep her shoes from clacking. She stopped near the plane as the phone quit ringing and cleared her throat.

"Excuse me?" She looked under the plane, bending down a bit.

"I'm really sorry to bother you, I can see you're very busy, but do you know where I might go or who I might speak with to ask about a job?"

She clasped her hands together and admired the plane. She'd never been up close to one before, and she thought it truly was a glorious machine. Sydra couldn't imagine what it'd be like to fly in one. She was much too poor not to mention afraid to fly anywhere. But she had thought about it. Seeing the world from so high must be exhilarating, she mused.

She brought herself out of her daydreaming to pay attention to her new acquaintance, wondering if they would even answer her.

[Nyth]

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Ring ring, ring ring...if it does that one more time I'm going to find whoever's meant to answer it and shove it up their lazy -
"Excuse me?"
Startled by the break in his internal monologue, Andrew opened both eyes reluctantly and glanced towards the sound of the voice, noticing bare legs and cowboy boots. Definitely not a frequent visitor to the base, and probably not someone who should be there in the first place. Although every ounce of what made him who he was protested violently against acknowledging the visitor, he could not argue with the fact that he was the most senior officer at the base and expected to handle these kinds of situations. Were it not in his job description, she'd be left there hollering at Milly, who was blessed with the ability to ignore such unpleasantness. After a few moments Fenrir strengthened his resolve and shuffled towards the sound, noticing a blue dress and dark brown hair. With another groan of displeasure he righted himself and stood before the girl, noting to himself how incredibly small women usually are. This one was no exception it seemed - never mind that he was a good few inches above six feet. No. It's definitely just that women are small.
Andrew folded his arms and clucked his tongue a few times as the girl spoke, asking him something about a job and who to go to in order to obtain one. How should he know? What kind of job was she talking about?
Ring, ring...
Irritation once again filled his gaze and he wondered where his burger was. Still saying nothing, he looked the girl up and down - an action which usually denoted physical interest but for Fenrir was nothing but a means to an end. She was slightly built, average-looking...nothing special in the looks department and definitely not in any kind of condition to apply for a military position. So she couldn't possibly be here to express an interest in flying, which meant the Captain's interest in her was very quickly fading. With a sigh, a little voice in the back of his head which he usually ignored told him it would be proper social etiquette to acknowledge what she'd been saying. But what the hell was he meant to say? He just wanted to spend some time with Milly and fix the old girl's brakes, he didn't ask to be interrupted by burgers and women in boots with -
Ring, ring...
Andrew's face visibly contorted in annoyance before he finally decided to speak.
"Can you answer phones?" He barked angrily in his surprisingly posh English accent, glancing at the source of the incessant shrilling. "Apparently we've got nobody to answer the phones around here. If you can do that, go ahead. I'll let the guys know you're our new secretary. Don't come to me with questions about pay and all that," he continued talking but turned towards Milly, walking up to the propeller after noticing a smudge on one of the bright yellow tips, "speak to Lieutenant Dashville."
With a degree of tenderness that did not at all fit his speech, he took his thumb and gently rubbed at the mark on his Spitfire's propeller. His demeanor seemed to soften as he paid attention to the plane, as working with the machines often did. Milly was the exception of course, being the only Spitfire on the base in a hangar full of modern fighter jets, and as such his irritation seemed to melt away to the point of simply being hungry again. He thought about Alex and where the squadron might be with the food, when suddenly a thought occurred to him and he shifted his attention once more from the plane to the young woman beside it.
"Hey, who sent you here, anyway? I'm new to this town but I know enough to realise that it's hard to find the CAF base. No offense but a slim, pretty girl like you is not the kind of visitor we're accustomed to receiving." Again, this seemingly flirtatious line was no more flirtatious than it was offensive - Fenrir had observed only moments earlier that the woman was slightly built and not unattractive, which is what prompted the comment. It was no wonder so many people ended up confused regarding what they believed his opinion of them was...
Introduce yourself.
That tiny voice once again piped up in the back of Fenrir's mind and on this very rare occasion, he agreed with it. Introducing himself would make sense - not only socially but professionally. She should be made aware that he is qualified to give her a job, after all. He extended his hand nonchalantly, twitching one corner of his mouth into an unnatural smile as he did so.
"My apologies, please allow me to me introduce myself. Group Captain Andrew Fielding. Welcome to the Cysro Air Force."

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[Erinland]

Sydra thought perhaps she was wasting her time as she received no answer.

"You see, my co-worker's brother said that there might be a need for a Secretary here and I-"

"Can you answer phones?"
With her eyes cast downward, Sydra had failed to see the speaker come out from the shadow of the plane. The British voice, or bark, was hardly what she expected, but she hadn't known what to expect anyway. The pilot, or at least she assumed he was a pilot, was very dark and handsome and seemed quite a bit older than she. Yet, there was something about him that Sydra didn't settle with. But she knew she was hardly one to judge. She saw him glance towards the phone.

"Yes, I primarily do secretary work, which includes-"
"Apparently we've got nobody to answer the phones around here. If you can do that, go ahead. I'll let the guys know you're our new secretary. Don't come to me with questions about pay and all that, speak to Lieutenant Dashville."
Sydra was slightly bewildered at his fast pace, and she simply nodded. He was obviously much more interested in his plane than her or anyone else, and she decided it was good that he was. No good pilot would neglect his machine. He'd given her a job, just like that, but Sydra didn't even know who he was, or if he even had the authority to do so. She didn't move away, hoping to learn his name and pass it along to anyone who questioned her.

"Hey, who sent you here, anyway? I'm new to this town but I know enough to realise that it's hard to find the CAF base. No offense but a slim, pretty girl like you is not the kind of visitor we're accustomed to receiving."
Sydra was surprised he'd called her slim and pretty, and was embarrassed that he'd taken notice. But she told herself most any army guy would say the same thing, if only to try out their flirting techniques. She felt it wasn't a sincere compliment anyway.

"Oh, well a young acquaintance of mine, He told me he works down here and suggested I ask about a secretary position. He also told me how to get directions. I hope he wasn't breaking any rules, I would hate to get him in trouble. I'm afraid I don't know his rank . . . Riley Dowager? Again, I'm sorry for bothering you, but I saw no one else around."
He then extended his hand casually, and smiled an upturned smile. He looked much nicer than before, And Sydra smiled back, Accenting her one truly beautiful attribute, her shapely pink lips.

"My apologies, please allow me to me introduce myself. Group Captain Andrew Fielding. Welcome to the Cysro Air Force."
"Thank you," Sydra said. "I'm Sydra Fare. Pleasure to meet you Captain."She took his hand and shook it promptly, hoping she hadn't upset him too much. The last thing she wanted was another tyrannical boss who tried his hardest to make her working life hellish. She doubted the rugged and chiseled Captain Fielding would be such a boss. He would be much too involved with other things. As she thought about it, she decided not even to hand in her notice at her old job at Rathbone Insurance. Rathbone didn't deserve it. She decided just not to go back. She was filled with joy at the idea of never having to see the fat old geezer again, and filled with joy that she'd gotten a new job.

"Now, If you can point me toward Lieutenant Dashville, I'll be out of your hair."
She stepped a half step or two in the opposite direction, letting him know she was ready to be out of his way.

[Nyth]

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Fenrir kept the smile on his face as long as he felt necessary, giving the young woman’s hand an appropriately professional shake. He was quietly contemplative for a moment regarding her name…it was very unusual and certainly not something he’d ever heard before. Sydra – how very intriguing. If she wasn’t careful she’d end up an object of curiosity for the pilot, and being labelled as such could either be wonderful or horrible for the object in question, as it invariably suggested the Captain spent more time with them. Not out of an interest in forming some kind of friendship, mind, although he would view such a result as a not-entirely-unpleasant side effect of his interests. This curiosity began to manifest itself immediately, and once he’d let go of the woman’s hand he tilted his head slightly, strikingly like a puppy attempting to make sense of an unusual sound.
“Oh, Dowager. Good man, good pilot. Keeps asking me to have a go with Milly, though.” Andrew laughed, his handsome face lighting up in a genuine smile which quickly faded, as if Sydra should know exactly why such a request was absurd. “No, no rules have been broken, you needn’t worry. Please, call me Fenrir. You’re not one of my men, ‘Captain’ really isn’t necessary, Sydra. That’s certainly an unusual name. Where does that – “
“Who’s that you’ve got there, Group Captain Fielding, sir? Cute little thing isn’t she!”
Wilkes arrived back on the scene with the rest of the men in an abrupt and, for the moment, entirely unwelcome manner. Each of the boys was lugging a bag full of fast food with them, except for Wilkes who of course had two. He smiled and handed the bag to his Captain, giving a little wink to Sydra as he did so. Wilkes knew Fenrir well enough as his subordinate to have grasped rather quickly his unusual disposition and attitude towards women. Sometimes he wondered whether the Captain even WANTED a girlfriend…
Andrew snatched the bag out of Wilkes’s hand without a thank you, visibly irritated with him.
“You interrupted me, Corporal. Don’t you have a three mile drill to run?”
Wilkes paused and looked confused for a moment. “No sir, I don’t –“
“Do you not have a three mile drill to run, Corporal Wilkes? Or is three miles not long enough for you to remember what decent conduct in my station is?”
The Corporal glanced awkwardly at Sydra as if apologising with his eyes, before sighing and handing his food to the man next to him and taking his jacket off. “Yes, sir. Three miles, sir.”
Put off from his train of thought by the interruption and resulting annoyance, Fenrir glowered for a moment after Wilkes as he jogged obediently out of the hangar. Reaching his hand inside the bag for the burger he’d been so desperately craving, he turned his stern green eyes to the collection of awkwardly silent men behind Sydra. “Does anybody else have anything clever to say to our new secretary? No? Good, then go and eat, be back in an hour for flight simulation. Dismissed.”
The gathering of soldiers saluted the Captain promptly, who acknowledged the gesture with his own in return, using his free hand. He suddenly remembered Sydra’s final request and cleared his throat as the ranks began to disperse, catching the eye of some of the more senior pilots who knew he’d be looking for one of them.
“Dashville, a word.” Thomas Dashville, a young twenty-something officer under Andrew’s command was a conventionally handsome man, with mousey-brown hair and rich brown eyes. He was not strikingly attractive, but his personality was both unassuming, polite and calm, making him appear more handsome than he perhaps was when courting women. He did his job well, and he had a strong sense of personal integrity, making him one of very, very few people who genuinely liked the Captain and who was liked in return. Dashville held Fenrir’s respect and he knew as much, and never exploited this fact. Without a smile, but an acknowledging raise of his eyebrows, he approached the Captain and Sydra and nodded his greeting to the girl.
“Sir?”
“This is Miss Sydra Fare. I’ve given her the much-needed position of secretary here, effective immediately. I’m sure she has questions regarding her salary and benefits to which I’m sure you can attend.”
“Of course, sir.” Dashville turned to Sydra with an obvious air of discipline. “If you would like to start today, I will take you through the administrative side of your position once myself and the others have finished our flight simulation drills. The office is to your left, I’m sure you can see to the phone in the meantime.” With a polite smile and a nod, Dashville then clicked his heels together and saluted Andrew promptly. “Sir. Miss Fare.” And with that, he turned to rejoin his squadron and attend his lunch break.
Fenrir turned his attention back to Sydra, that little half-smile of his still remaining on his lips. “Well then. There we are.”

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ooc note} I made a lil' goof regarding Dashville's rank - he's a Lieutenant in a short story I'm writing (in which he's in the army) but this obviously is not befitting of an air force officer (assuming, as I am, that the CAF is arranged in a similar way to the RAF in terms of ranks). He is therefore a Sergeant and an SNCO, not a Lieutenant. :3 Just so you know for when I mention him casually in the future!

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[Erinland]

Sydra was relieved that Riley was well thought of by the Captain and that he hadn't been mistaken in suggesting she come here. He spoke so wonderfully, and Sydra warmed at the sound of him speaking her name. She was surprised by the his asking her to call him Fenrir, but did not have much time to think about it, for several men had spilled onto the scene and as Sydra looked, she saw there were bags in their hands. Burger bags. She bit her lip at the 'cute' comment. She was unable to keep from smiling as the joking Wilkes was put out of the hangar to run three miles. The other soldier's promptly obeyed Fenrir and saluted before leaving the hanger themselves.

“Dashville, a word.”
The Captain called a nice looking young man forward, and Sydra knew he was the same man she'd been told to speak with. He was well built with light brown hair and nice features. Sydra smiled at him politely.

“If you would like to start today, I will take you through the administrative side of your position once myself and the others have finished our flight simulation drills. The office is to your left, I’m sure you can see to the phone in the meantime.” He said efficiently.

"Yes," Sydra said simply, "Thank you,"
He too saluted, then went to rejoin the others.

“Well then. There we are.”

"Thank you so much Captain-" She stopped. "Fenrir. You don't know how wonderful this is for me, really."She straightened herself and smiled as the phone began to ring again.

"And now, time to get to work," She nodded to him, and turned on her heel, clacking all the way back to the window boxed office. As she opened the door, she could tell men had been the previous organizers. Papers and folders and plastic cups covered the desk. Airplane charts and part catalogs lay about the other flat places. The trash basket was full and overflowing. But Sydra smiled. She at least knew she was needed, and that was a very good feeling. She answered the phone, unsure of the proper greeting.

"Cysro Air Base," She said.

"Hey, is this Kimiko Japanese restaurant?"
She felt like saying something insulting to someone who completely ignored what she had said upon answering, but instead she was kind.

"No sir, this is the Cysro Air Base, like I said."
The caller hung up. Nice manners, Sydra thought. She began tidying the office and was overjoyed to find a large packet of blank folders. She commenced to collecting papers and filing them under proper labels, writing the names on the tabs. She placed them in the under utilized black filing cabinet in alphabetical order. Sydra then gathered all the parts catalogs and diagrams, arranging them on the small shelf by year. She organized the bulletin board and moved the clutter away to discover a lovely full size map of Cysro. She dusted it, and the colors shown up very nicely. The trash was more difficult to figure, as she didn't have any bags to throw it out in. She thought about looking in a bathroom, but had no idea where they were. By this time, the sky was starting to dim. Sydra looked at the clock to see it was 5:30. She decided to bring trashbags with her tomorrow, and also ask someone where the bathroom was. She would need to know if she worked here after all.

Sydra walked out to her old car, feeling better than she had in weeks. As she got in, she looked over the directions to the base and put the paper carefully on her dashboard. She had the feeling she might need it again tomorrow.

(ooc: I have a little idea for the second day that ought tomake things intresting if nothing else, lol)

[Nyth]

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As Sydra turned back to Fenrir and smiled, explaining how appreciative she was for the job, his curiosity in her only seemed to increase. It was wonderful for her to be given the opportunity to organise papers and answer phones? How extraordinary, imagine finding such a thing wonderful…he simply nodded in acknowledgment of her thanks, not knowing what else to say or do in response. Afterwards he was pleasantly surprised by a refreshingly efficient claim: “time to get to work”, she had said. With a raised eyebrow and a very rare smile that reflected his approval, Fenrir let a glimpse of his upper-class upbringing shine through as he felt it necessary to give the girl a rather informal half-bow in thanks and goodbye. Still saying nothing, but watching Sydra walk towards the office, myriad questions about the mysteries of human beings, and women in particular, filled his head.
“I don’t know, Milly…” The Captain sighed, turning back towards his machine and patting its wing affectionately, “you’re the only lady I need to understand.”
With this, Fenrir lowered himself once again to the floor and shuffled himself towards the brakes he’d been so close to fixing. After a few moments of silence, the pilot let out a satisfied bark as it occurred to him suddenly what needed doing. With a broad smile, his hands shot into the inner workings of the Spitfire’s retractable wheel gears, grunting with the effort of contorting his hands in order to reapply one of the brake cords. Once he had achieved this, a sense of overwhelming contentedness filled his chest, and he sighed happily into the belly of the plane.
“There you go, old girl. What say we go for a spin in the morning? Best let the tower know.” He crawled out from underneath the plane and dusted himself off with an obvious air of satisfaction, noticing that Dashville was at the other end of the hangar having a casual cigarette. With a raised eyebrow, but more curiosity than disapproval, the Captain made his way towards the Sergeant. It wasn’t particularly out of his way – the air traffic control building was just beyond the exit on the west side of the hangar where Dashville was loitering. The younger officer saw Fenrir coming and threw the cigarette on the ground in acknowledgment of the impending conversation, idly putting it out with his boot.
“Where’d the new girl come from?” Dashville asked, leaning his back against the wall and folding his arms, knowing full well that Fenrir was incapable of getting women to like him beyond his physical appearance, let alone actually ASK to work with him. Fenrir leaned against the wall next to him, putting his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and looking in the direction of the office. He didn’t ask why Dashville was not in flight simulation – as a Sergeant he was capable of logging many flight hours and his training was at a personal level with the Captain. He shrugged.
“Don’t know, she said Dowager sent her. To ask about a job. Think we need her?”
“I’d say so. The phone never gets answered and the office is a bomb site.”
“True indeed.”
Tom turned to his friend with a raised eyebrow. “What do you think of her?”
A very complicated question to ask a man like Fenrir, but he gave it some serious consideration after puffing out his cheeks in bewilderment and sighing dramatically. “She’s intriguing, isn’t she? Unusual name. And there’s something about her that doesn’t seem entirely…normal.” Fenrir’s instincts were incredibly sharp, and he had detected an air of the mysterious about Sydra that he couldn’t quite explain. Dashville, of course, detected no such difference, and simply put the observation down to the Captain’s poor social skills.
“Well, in any case, I’ll have a word with the boys about remembering their manners.”
“Yes, do that. I don’t want her harassed. And none of that vulgar nonsense Wilkes pulled earlier, either.”
The Sergeant smiled, nodding in understanding and finding – as he always did – the strangeness of Fenrir’s ideals highly refreshing. He understood women less than he understood himself, and yet he was so bound by honour and personal integrity that he was able to issue such commands, and this characteristic was so often misunderstood by unfortunate women captivated by his appearance and superficial charm.
“It’s a real shame they tend to like you, Fen.” Dashville said with a wry laugh, patting the Captain’s shoulder as he stood up and away from the wall.
“Like me? A shame? Why? Who?”
“Women. Because you’ll never understand what it means. Still, I suppose that just leaves more for the rest of us, you handsome motherfucker.” The Sergeant laughed and casually saluted the Captain before making his way back to the flight simulation block, leaving Fenrir to contemplate what on earth all that was supposed to mean.

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[Erinland]

Sydra, try as she might, could not get back to sleep. It was four in the morning, and the young woman whipped onto another hip to try and drift off. She couldn't. She figured the excitement of a new job and the interesting new company she would now keep kept her brain from resting. Annoyed, she got up and began to get ready, showering and dressing. She put on a bit of eyeliner and tousled her dark brown hair, which hung with its usual natural bounce. She dug through her slim closet and found a gray knee length skirt. She put on a white blouse she'd gotten at the thrift store and decided it would do. The only thing she hated about being a secretary was trying to look like one. She admitted to herself that she was not a fashionable dresser. The only thing that looked suitable with her outfit was her black boots. She shrugged and put them on as well as her coat. Sydra did not neglect to take two trash bags from underneath her sink and put them in her bag.

She drove carefully through town and onto the back roads toward the base, determined not to miss the subtle road, even though it was still dark. She found it no problem, and was happy as she pulled up the long straight drive. According to her watch, it had taken about 40 minutes. A considerable commute, but perfectly acceptable as far as Sydra was concerned. As she approached the guard booth, she thought she might have to stop, but the gate keeper had seen her coming and had opened it ahead of time. Sydra smiled at him and he nodded and smiled back.

She found a parking spot easily, as only two other cars were in it. She took her bag and walked quietly into the hanger. No one was around. Things were dark. It was, Sydra reminded herself, five in the morning. She went into the office, sat her bag in the chair and came back out.

An idea was forming in her mind as she stood alone in front of the hangar. She didn't technically start work until eight. That gave her three hours. The outlying area begged to be explored. It was a potentially dangerous idea, but Sydra had done it before, in other such out of the way places. She went quietly outside and walked the length of two other hangers until she was in the grassy area parallel with the runway. The base was in what Sydra thought of as a sort of a grassy lagoon, with little bands of forest on each side of it that surrounded the buildings and runway, but fields of emptiness everywhere else, like a sea. The chain link perimeter went on and on out of sight. She could see how immense the place really was. But she was still more curious.

Sydra walked calmly into the darkness, toward the bushes and trees. When she knew she was covered, she took her clothes off carefully and laid them over a low branch. After one last look around, she shifted, melting herself into a white wolf with long legs and black claws. After a minute or two, she was complete, and stood breathing heavily. It had been a while since her last phase.

Then the doubt hit her. Was she crazy? What if someone saw her? Would the pilots shoot a wolf if they did? Sydra hadn't seen any guns, but she was sure that they had some. What army base wouldn't? She took a deep breath. She'd come this far, might as well go all the way. I only want to have a look around, she said to herself, I'll probably never do this again anyway.

With that, she trotted forward, keeping her bearings carefully. Suddenly she stopped. It might be good to have some clothing, just in case. She went back and collected her coat in her mouth, which was long enough to cover her should an emergency arise. She stayed in the thin line of trees and bushes that out-skirted the runway. She got further and further from the buildings, which made her feel better. She felt safe enough to set her coat down on a log and continue without it. The shifter stepped out cautiously near the runway. The wide open space thrilled her, it was not an often sight for a city dweller. Her brown eyes danced around, but she saw no people. There was a plane however, and Sydra decided it was safe to go and view it. As she trotted carefully up to it, her claws clicked on the pavement. Planes looked even bigger as a wolf, and still fascinating. This one seemed familiar, though, and Sydra knew no plane should look familiar to her yet. She'd only really seen one . . .

She froze as she looked higher up and could just make out the word written on the plane's nose. Milly.

Sydra leaped in the air and turned at the same time. She raced across the pavement and dove for the trees. She sat there, panting and trembling. She hadn't seen anyone, but she was sure if the Captain's plane was here, he was likely very much nearby. Maybe even in the cockpit. She swallowed. She went back to her coat, and sat quietly by it, listening for anyones voices or footsteps. The wolf prayed for silence.


(OCC: I was kind of hoping Fenrir might see her, but also maybe not try to shoot her..., lol, hope it's not too crazy of a post.)

[Nyth]

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Andrew rolled over onto his side during his sleep, waking up as his hip hit metal and jarred him into consciousness. He’d fallen asleep on Milly’s wing, leaning against the barrel of the fuselage as he was so prone to doing. He groaned out of annoyance, wishing he’d remained asleep, but glanced at his watch and noticed it was close to four in the morning anyway. He usually never slept past five, as he started each day with a spin around Cysro’s airspace to clear his head. Besides, it kept Milly in fighting condition to maintain her and keep her flight-capable. Sighing and stretching his arms over his head, he glanced again at his watch to double-check the time and then hopped down off the wing.
“Back in a minute,” he said in morning-speak to the plane, making his way to the office in order to change his shirt and put his flying jacket on. He opened the door and stopped dead for a moment, furrowing his brow at the surprising...order of everything. There was no flurry of papers, there were no open drawers. It was tidy!
“Wow, that Sydra girl doesn’t mess around.” He said to himself quietly, muttering into the shirt that he was in the process of pulling over his head. He tossed it onto the desk, noting to himself that he should remember to put it somewhere else before Sydra arrived; it would be most improper for the young lady to have to endure a man’s pre-worn garments so early in the morning. In the same thought he supposed he should ask Dashville when exactly she was expected to arrive and leave...these things are valuable nuggets of information. He shivered briefly in the morning cold, knowing full well that the hangar’s heating system didn’t kick on until seven, and dipped into the gym bag that was a permanent fixture next to the desk. He pulled out a black long-sleeved shirt and tugged it over his torso roughly, grabbing his thick flying jacket off the coat stand near the door in almost the same movement. He left the office and closed the door behind him, pulling on his jacket and running a hand through his near-black hair to tousle it into life.
“Right then, old girl. How about it?” Came the next coherent phrase, accompanying a few grunts of effort as the pilot lifted himself into the cockpit of the Spitfire eagerly. No matter how many times this action was repeated Fenrir never tired of it, and it always filled him with boyish excitement. There was something about the propeller plane that was just much more magical than modern-day jets...if only because he firmly believed propellers sounded far better than jet engines. Planes used in the military today of course did not use propellers, so Milly was an understandable oddity and often attracted curious attention from the other pilots in the CAF. Fenrir would never dream of allowing another man to pilot the plane, but she was so drastically different and (in his opinion) more aesthetically pleasing than the modern machines that, unbeknownst to him, the boys often conspired to take the plane for a spin while he wasn’t looking.
But of course...when wasn’t he looking?
Andrew situated himself in the plane and lowered the roof of the cockpit (it was certainly advantageous to have incorporated modern-day technology into the old plane) automatically, clipped on his oxygen mask and headset and kicked the plane into life. The propeller roared defiantly into the dark morning air and the pilot smiled behind his mask. The crackle of white noise in his ear let him know the system was online, and as he eased the Spitfire out of the hangar he spoke calmly and deliberately.
“Tower this is Spitfire Foxtrot-One, requesting clearance for takeoff. How’re you doing this morning, gents?”
A few seconds of silence, a dull hiss, and a reply from Air Traffic Control. “Spitfire Foxtrot-One this is Tower, request acknowledged, runway is clear. Airspace clearance granted for one hour before preliminary flight training. We’re all fine up here, nice morning for it. Enjoy your flight, Group Captain Fielding.”
“Understood, lining up. Ready for takeoff, estimate 3 minutes. Have a cup of coffee for me, boys.”
With that, the headset went quiet for what he knew would be only a few minutes before he was fed relevant radar information during the flight. The propeller roared louder as the paddles increased their speed, and Fenrir eased the plane faster and faster down the runway until his momentum allowed him to pull back on the gears and lift the Spitfire into the air with effortless skill. Flying was second nature to the Captain, and he took to the air like most people took to the freeway. Milly climbed quickly into the low morning clouds, and Andrew could just about make out the faint glow of an impending sunrise. He always enjoyed flying as the sun came up, landing just as the bright yellow orb peeked its first rays above the horizon. He smiled to himself, listening to the idle reports fizzing into his ears regarding wind speed, direction and recommended altitude as if someone were chit-chatting absently about their new car. He absorbed the information, but he was so used to receiving these little gobbets that he could almost predict what the wind speed and temperature was simply by walking around in it.
An hour passed, and the Air Traffic Control Officer gently reminded the Captain that preliminary training for the Typhoons was scheduled to begin, and he should be at the hangar preparing the jets. Although he could not be seen, Fenrir nodded his head and smiled, assuring the Tower that he was lining himself up for landing. In a matter of minutes, and without any sort of complication, the wheels of the Spitfire touched the concrete of Cysro’s runway and Milly’s newly-fixed brakes eased the plane down to a cruising speed. Given that the WWII fighter was so much smaller than the modern jets, it wasn’t completely necessary for the Captain to assign her to a specific dock, and so he simply relayed to Air Traffic Control that he would taxi the Spitfire to an out-of-the-way place. Knowing full well the pilot’s experience, the Tower had no problem with this, and Fenrir eased the plane into a tucked-away place near the edge of the CAF station, near the border of trees.
“Was it good for you?” The Captain chuckled as he removed his oxygen mask and headset, feeling the rumble of Milly’s engine in his chest as the propeller rapidly slowed and eventually came to a stop. Heat rose pleasantly from the exhaust pipes on the plane’s nose, and Fenrir sighed happily, stretching his legs out as far as they could go in the cockpit. He did not immediately leave the plane, but instead leaned his head back and closed his eyes, appreciating the time he was given to be alone with the machine and have a few moments of quiet. He yawned, sensing the first few hints of daylight behind his eyelids and opened them again, glancing outside of the cockpit just in time to see a white flash of fur.
“Shit!” He said suddenly, jerking to attention in his seat and managing to get a decent glimpse of the wolf as it hurried into the foliage of the bordering woods. He could see no further movement beyond where the asphalt met the dirt, and assumed that the animal had stopped and taken the time to observe its surroundings. Having never seen a wolf in real life before, and having a soft spot for animals that far exceeded his regard for the wellbeing of humans, Fenrir opened the roof of the cockpit and deftly lowered himself out of the Spitfire.
“Hey…” he said softly into the brush, moving slowly and deliberately so as to avoid startling what must have been an already startled creature, “…hey, it’s alright, where’d you go?”
The cool, lilting tones of his English accent took on a level of care and affection that no living person had ever heard or imagined, as the young man crouched down near the edge of the tracks and trained his gaze on to the white wolf whose eyes he could just glimpse. He smiled softly, but didn’t hold out his hand.
“Hi there, beautiful…” he said gently, tilting his head. “What are you doing out here? It’s not safe, you know, I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
Mystified by the animal and genuinely moved for its safety, Fenrir shifted from a crouching position to sit himself on the tarmac, one knee in the air and the other folded. He rested his wrist on the knee near his chest, watching patiently to see what the wolf would do. The sun would be up completely in an hour and the rest of the soldiers were not due to wake until 0600, so he knew he had time to sit and marvel at this beautiful animal for as long as it would keep his company.

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[Erinland]

Sydra sat stone still. Her veins went cold as she heard the Captain's voice. He was nearby, just as she feared.

“…hey, it’s alright, where’d you go?”
The wolf swallowed and decided bolting would not be a good idea. He came ever slightly closer, easily and calmly. He crouched down and spotted her through the foliage. What would she do? But more importantly, what would he do?

“Hi there, beautiful…”
His voice was as gentle and as soft as Sydra had ever heard. Her human self melted. The captain she had met seemed so different from this one. But then everyone had different sides to them. She was no exception.

“What are you doing out here? It’s not safe, you know, I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
The white wolf licked her lips, wondering what to do. His demeanor had reassured her, and she no longer feared being shot. At least not by him. She sensed no one else around besides the handsome Fenrir. Maybe it would be safe . . .

She looked around once more, then stood up. She tip-toed slowly through the foliage between them, and stood before him. Her white fur shone in the dim light and she crouched down. She did not close the few feet of gap between them, for fear of startling him. She considered him thinking it was strange for a wolf to act this way, but for all he knew she could be tame or something. She reached out with her front paws until the tips touched the pavement. A lovely white face with small brown markings looked up at the man. Her eyes met his. Sydra took a deep breath. He was the beautiful one.

She suddenly felt very foolish. How stupid to come right out in broad view! Her ears folded back in worry. He might think she was sickly or crazy or rabid! But as soon as she looked into the Captain's face again, She trusted him. Trusted that he would not harm her, nor let anyone else do so. She whined softly. On her belly, she moved a little closer. The shifter decided to give the pilot a wolf encounter to remember. One he could look back on and recall with wonder. She stood up slowly, now only about four or five feet from Fenrir. Quietly, she went forward, and touched her black nose to his hand. She hoped he would pet her even. She'd never had anyone pet her before, but she could think of no one she would rather have done it. She put her ears back and tail low, mimicking a dog. She surely did not want to be misunderstood as aggressive.

She let out a relieved sigh, and waited to see what the Captain would do next.